


brawls and weddings

by reinacadeea



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M, Prompt Fic, Revised Version, repost from livejournal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 14:22:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2510828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reinacadeea/pseuds/reinacadeea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray is a deputy US Marshall and Brad is a Marine on his leave passing by his town with his bike. They met in a bar where Brad helps him with a brawl between the locals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	brawls and weddings

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally posted on the 'we pimpin' community. i'm now gathering my works here, so this came along

The bar is sleazy as fuck. There are rednecks everywhere; sitting with their cowboy hats and their booths, drinking their lousy watered-down beer and Ray feels right at home. It feels like back home in Missouri, nothing like the urban jungle of New York. New York is fantastic, but you always have to be so goddamn civil all the goddamn time. Ray didn’t grow up all that civilized, that’s probably why he became a marshal. To get some action in sleazy as fuck bars… it’s all he’s living for.  


The guy from the mug shot, the guy Ray is hunting who ran from his probation, is sitting in the corner with his badass Nazi brothers. Well, at least they think they’re badass. Ray’s got a hard time thinking anyone’s badass. Okay, so the Marines might be. The tattoo on his left arm says it all for him. 

The Nazi probation-jumper doesn’t know who is coming for him, so he is surrounding himself with his former prison buddies, letting the Aryan Brotherhood tats do the talking for him. Ray can’t get to him now. He’s gotta bide his time and strike when the guy’s alone. What was his name? It’s Carl or something Aryan.  


Carl what’s-his-face looks nervous while still trying to look badass. His head is shaved with the usual skinhead attire and maybe Ray should be scared, but he’s pretty incapable of fear, so he is not.

That bartender is okay looking, not too old, not too young. He is old enough to understand the lay of the land, but still too young to be jaded by it all. It’s kind of nice for a change. Ray orders a beer and settles on a barstool, conveniently being able to watch everything Carl, or whoever, does. 

There are three people sitting at the bar. It’s not as crowded as close to the pool table where most sit and bets their kids’ money. It’s a sad world sometimes. They are all bikers at the bar, nomads probably, but one of them is carrying HA symbols. One of them stands out though, because he is tall and doesn’t look like a redneck at all. His face is stony, frozen in a mask of indifference, putting off anyone who would try to talk to him. It’s a convenient front, Ray thinks. Maybe he should adopt it. 

The night goes on steadily with the bar filling up with the workers who takes double-shifts and instead of going home to their wives and kids, they’re here, drinking their miserable lives away. Just like Ray’s father did and a couple of the stepfathers too. He’s on his third beer when things start to get a little rowdy between the Aryans and the HA biker who is suddenly not alone anymore. Everyone senses the sudden tensing of attitudes and people who wants no part in a brawl, leaves or takes up residence in the corners to watch. Ray sees a chance to get to Carl, sees him slipping away into the restrooms, but just then he’s jostled by one of the bikers and he’s gotta put all his attention on these fuckers instead. 

Fists and feet are suddenly everywhere and he can’t really remember how he got involved in the fight in the first place, but suddenly someone is punching him on the side of his face. His ears ring, but adrenalin is taking over and he fights back, trying to gain momentum enough to stop it all. He’s the law here, or at least he should be, but everything is too hectic. 

Suddenly, there’s a gunshot and Ray’s hands instantly goes to his own, but it’s gone. The brawling parties throws themselves to the ground, leaving only Ray and the stone-faced biker from the bar standing. 

The first thing Ray notices is the stony-face’s massive height. He’s at least one head taller than Ray and while Ray is short beside most people, he’s still fucking tall. Ray’s gun is in the guy’s hand, pointed to the ceiling and he’s demanding attention from the entire room. He’s fucking impressive. 

‘I don’t expect hick fuckers like yourselves to be civil, but brawling in a public place… that’s just so damn uncivilized it makes me wanna cry,’ the lone biker says. 

The fuckers on the floor looks at him like he’s an idiot and Ray supposes he’s got to have some guts to pull that kind of stunt, especially around guys with obvious AB and HA affiliation close by. 

The biker hands Ray his gun, shrugs on his leather jacket he’d taken off earlier and heads out the door, like he hasn’t got a care in the world. Ray stares at the gun for a minute, switching the safety on, and starts after the biker. 

‘What the fuck, dude!’ Ray says outside the sleazy bar. 

The biker stops and turns around to look at him like he’s some sort of bug. 

‘How’d you know?’ Ray asks him. 

The biker just studies him coolly. 

‘How did you know about the gun?’ he asks again. 

He’s being contemplated, Ray knows. He can see it in the biker’s blue eyes and the slight twitch of his eyebrow. 

‘Marine,’ the biker says like it explains everything and it fucking does to vets like Ray. 

‘Are you hungry, because I could eat a buffalo right about now?’ Ray says, letting his mouth free. ‘It’s the adrenaline, ya know. It fucks me up.’

The marine seems amused and nods. ‘You know a place?’

Ray nods. ‘Yeah, I know a place.’

The marine ends up following Ray’s government issued car down a couple of roads, until he stops in front of a greasy looking place that somehow looks a thousand times better than any McDonalds or Burger King. They end up ordering just about everything edible and wash it down with sweetened ice-tea, which makes New Mexico feel even more like home. There’s something about the charm of the southern states that the northern ones haven’t got and they should feel sorry for it. 

The marine introduces himself as Brad and no he isn’t a time-travelling Viking from Scandinavia. He’s a Gunnery Sergeant in Oceanside and they had apparently both been on the same tour to Afghanistan before nine-eleven. But that was five years ago and Ray never went to Iraq, because he’d been pulled into the marshals by then, tracking questionable leads about Muslims in all shapes and sizes. 

‘You’re on duty, then?’ Brad asks. 

Ray shrugs. ‘Carl or whatever-his-face disappeared right when the brawl started. I’ll figure it out tomorrow.’ 

Carl is not on his mind at all, but Brad is. Brad is fucking great. Ray can’t remember the last time he had connected with someone so quick. They speak of brotherhood, the tolls of war and the incompetence of the American government. He feels the heat through his blue-jeans where Brad leg touches his and that’s alright. 

When they have paid and standing outside the diner, the mood changes, but no way in a bad way. 

‘You have a place to stay?’ Ray asks, staring intently at Brad. 

Brad looks back unflinching. ‘Not yet.’

‘You know, I always thought DADT was fucking retarded,’ Ray tries to casually comment and it comes out pretty cool.

‘You don’t say,’ Brad says and for a moment Ray is sure he’s read the signals wrong, but then Brad brushes by him, too close, and says ‘I thought you would never ask.’ 

Ray grins and follows. 

They end up in a tangle on the ratty bed in the ratty motel Ray’s staying in, sweaty and satisfied, Ray leaning against Brad’s broad chest, smoking a cigarette casually while Brad absently flickers through the channels on the television.

‘Are you on leave?’ Ray asks around the cig. He’s seen the weird tan on Brad’s body. 

‘Just came home from Afghanistan for the second time,’ Brad replies. ‘I have to be back in Oceanside in seventy-two hours.’

‘Homes, you’re one of them lifers,’ Ray realizes. ‘You’re stuck in the clusterfuck for good.’

Brad shrugs. 

Ray squishes the cigarette and turns around and smirks. 

\--

Brad is gone in the morning. The bed is cold beside Ray. He sighs and gets up, aching in weird places. 

He’s got work to do. 

\--

Walt is one of those elite Marine fuckers, the Recon Marines. They lead the invasion in Iraq and honestly, they’re the coolest motherfuckers on Earth. Maybe they’re even cooler than the SEALS, because everybody knows the Navy are for pussies. Ray should have been part of it, but he said no, joined with the marshals instead.

Walt is prattling on about his girl, the one from D.C., who he knocked up and now he’s getting married and he expects Ray fucking Person to be in attendance. Ray takes the red-eye from New York and lands at some ungodly hour of the morning with a crick in his neck and duffel slung over his shoulder. He rents a car, flashing his badge and calls Walt to say he’s expecting royal treatment at breakfast time. 

Oceanside looms closer in the horizon with Johnny Cash blaring out of the speakers and it feels somehow like going home. He’d toiled with his brothers here, spilled blood, sweat and tears and it was all worth it in the end. He and Walt had met their first day here and stuck together for years, even after Ray moved across the country. 

Ray chain smokes out the window, feeling the warm California air, letting everything fall to place.

 

Whoever is unjust let him be unjust still  
Whoever is righteous let him be righteous still  
Whoever is filthy let him be filthy still  
Listen to the words long written down  
When the man comes around  
(Johnny Cash - The Man Comes Around)

 

He reaches Walt and Sarah’s house at half past six. It’s kind of shabby, but with some fixing it’ll be alright, and with a couple of kids runnin’ around outside it’s going to be all around American picturesque. Ray doesn’t think about a life like that. He can’t see himself with a girl, having a kid, or even the house as of now. He lives for the road, the thrill of the chase and the weird semi-existence he lives in now. Plus, there’s the whole he’s really fucking gay and procreating with a chick to get a kid makes his toes curl. He wouldn’t mind the house or the boyfriend to come home to, but maybe in ten years when he can be relied upon. 

Walt opens the door for him and they hug like the best friends they are. 

‘Hey, daddy,’ Ray teases and Walt blushes happily. 

‘Yeah, who would have thought?’ he says. 

Ray hugs and kisses Sarah, who is glowing, barely showing. She’s kind and beautiful and an anchor to some of the shit Walt is dragging around in his head. They are a perfect match and Walt loves her so much it’s actually kind of pathetic. 

‘I’m going to throw you the gnarliest bachelor party ever and steal your guestroom for a week,’ Ray says through pancakes with syrup that Sarah made for him. ‘You better be prepared, Ray-Ray’s in town.’

Walt rolls his eyes and helps himself to a stash of pancakes. ‘I better introduce you to Bravo. They have expressed their interest in being a part of the planning.’

Ray shrugs. ‘Sure, we’ll get a beer.’

Later, much later, Ray thinks that might have been the greatest fucking idea he’s ever had. 

They’re at that bar near Pendleton, the Angry Marine, where Ray used to get trashed in weekends with Walt and the rest of the sorry excuses for Marines. Walt introduces Christesen, Poke, Garza, Carizales, Lilley and none other than the infamous Iceman, who Ray has heard more about than everybody else. Walt’s got a hero crush on the guy and it’s all so fucking funny because it’s Brad, the guy he fucked in New Mexico almost six months ago. 

‘Well, Colbert,’ he says with a crooked smile. ‘I feel like I already know you.’

‘You don’t say,’ Brad says and applies his own half smile. 

‘Wait, you guys have met before?’ Walt asks. 

‘Once,’ Ray replied casually. ‘Get me a beer and I’ll tell the whole colorful story.’

Brad looks worried for a second, but Ray shakes his head slightly. He won’t tell, you know, everything. 

Walt gets them all beers and Ray starts his tale about rival gangs, Aryan motherfuckers and someone named Carl. Somehow it all ends with him and Brad getting trashed out of their minds and singing karaoke in Santa Fe. Yeah, well, Ray’s always been a good storyteller. 

Sometime later, Ray slips into the twilight for a smoke, fingers curling around the cigarette and the neck of a Heineken bottle in the other hand. The door opens behind him and Brad steps out and brushes against him briefly. 

‘So, you know Hasser,’ Brad states.

‘Best friend,’ Ray replies. ‘He’s a good guy.’

They stand in silence for a while. 

‘You wanna get out of here?’ 

Ray flicks the cigarette onto the pavement and turns to look at Brad, who’s staring at something interesting on the other side of the road. 

‘I thought you’d never ask.’

\--

Ray wakes in Brad’s large-ass bed the morning after to the persistent noise of his phone. He curses its invention and answers as cordially as possible. It’s the boss from the LA office, asking for his help. Apparently, he’s short a couple of Marshals due to a prison breakout near the city and they could really use his help tracking some prisoners who really should have thought better than running. Apparently, Ray’s reputation precedes him and he agrees, bargaining for Friday and Saturday off since he is actually on vacation and there’s a wedding and he’s the best man. 

Brad is awake when the conversation ends. Ray pulls on his clothes hurriedly and gratefully accepts the cup of coffee Brad hands him. 

‘What the fuck am I going to do about the bachelor party?’ he says. 

‘No worries. Bravo will figure it out,’ Brad says. ‘Go save some Americans.’

Ray snorts at the humorless tone of Brad’s voice. He’s a weird motherfucker, but he’s pretty, so it evens out. ‘I owe you big, homes.’

‘Yeah, well I expect repayment soon enough,’ Brad says and winks. 

Ray lights a smoke, waves, and leaves the giant-ass house Brad lives in alone. It’s right by the beach, one or two houses over and there’s a surfboard on the porch and the bike is standing proud in the garage. Ray walks the three blocks to Walt’s house and gets directly into his car for LA. He’ll get some McDonalds for the road and more cigs and coffee. Sometime later, he should call Walt and explain the situation, expect for the whole fucking his TL bit. But for now Johnny Cash and memories of last night will do. 

\--

In the week Ray stays in California, he spent three days tracking escaped prisoners, across the nearest state lines and one memorable time, shooting some escaped convict a yard before the Mexican border. He’s fucked and gotten fucked a lot of different ways by Brad and he went to a wedding, where everybody (but the bride) got pissed and Brad and Ray had an interesting time getting Brad out of his dress blues. They later wondered if Sarah had encountered the same problem with Walt’s.  
But it ends, everything ends and he has to go back to New York and the cases he had postponed due to the wedding. He has already said goodbye to Walt and Sarah, wishing them the best of luck and promising to try to return as quickly as possible. Then he drives to Brad’s place. 

Brad looks up from his bike, bare-chested and shoeless, grease clinging to his skin, giving him the greaser look. He squints in the sun and stands up when he recognizes Ray.

Ray gets out of the car, lighting a cigarette out of habit and blows out the smoke casually. It’s late in the afternoon and he’s still gotta drive up to Los Angeles for a meeting with the bosses in the LA office, but he wants to see Brad one more time. 

‘You’re going back to New York?’ Brad asks, taking a cloth hanging on the handle on the bike. He tries to wipe the grease of his fingers and Ray follows the movement, remembering what they are capable of. 

‘It’s work, you know,’ he says. ‘I’ve got cases to finish, paperwork to do. All that shit.’

‘Ah, life of the marshals, keeping the POGs safe for another day,’ Brad says sarcastically. 

Ray shrugs. He’s in one of his work suits, all dressed up for the meeting. He gets a business card from his inner pocket and hands it to Brad. ‘I just came to give you this, if you want it.’

Brad stares at the card, blue eyes emotionless. He looks like a fucking stone wall. But he takes the card and stuffs it in the pocket of his jeans. Then he nods towards the little path going behind the house and Ray takes the hint. Brad follows him silently and Ray isn’t surprised, when out of view, Brad presses him up against the garage and kisses him roughly. He kisses back, putting his hands on Brad’s hips, while Brad cradles his head. It’s kind of awkward because Brad’s so tall and Ray is a dwarf in comparison. But it doesn’t matter. 

When they let go, they’re grinning stupidly at each other.

‘See ya,’ Ray says finally and goes back to his car, leaving Brad behind… for now. 

 

Fin. 

(9-28-11)

Revised 10-14-14


End file.
